Shooting Stars and Package Deliveries: The Bad Day Continues

[Duncan Rightstone]

16th Day of Fall, 518 AV (Morning)

Continued From Here

Duncan braved the heavy winds and pushed his way as fast as he could from the alley to the nearby tavern, The Pig's Foot. After dodging more flying debris from the terrible windstorm and almost losing his own footing, he finally made it to the doors of the tavern. Carefully holding the doors so as to enter without them flying off, he closed them securely behind him. Taking a deep breath and wiping water from his face, he looked about the tavern. Although looking a bit aged; he heard it said that the Pig's Foot was the oldest standing tavern in the area, it looked much like other taverns he's seen in the city save for being a bit cleaner.

There were probably more people in the tavern that would normally be there so early in the day but with the weather being what it was, any place out of it was better than nothing. Thus the tavern was rather busy with people trying to avoid thinking about the storm by drowning out the wind with a bit of spirits.

Duncan shook his head in disbelief at what had just happened as he approached the bar. The old man behind it looked up at him with a dour stare and asked, "What do you want?"

Duncan thought he could hear an emphasis on the you part of the question but wasn't in the mood to go anywhere with it.

"Mug of ale." Duncan said bluntly. With a muffled grumble and a barely audible comment about foreigners, the man returned with the ale. Duncan tossed him a couple of coins before the man was willing to set the mug down on the bar. Reaching for the mug, Duncan turned away from the bar and walked over to a table in the corner; his back against the wall.

Still in disbelief, Duncan thought to himself, What in Izurdin’s name was that…It’s like she was crazed. He took a gulp of his ale and grimaced a bit; it was a bit sharp for his taste. Still, it would work to help combat the craziness even if it wasn’t the best remedy.

Sitting in the corner as he was, Duncan was able to keep a good watch on the rest of the tavern’s main room. The establishment wasn’t terribly large but it looked adequate for what it was. He kept his head low while his eyes open as he glanced around at the crowd that had gathered. Most were the typical people he’d normally expect to see in the morning; the typical transients, a merchant or two and of course those who you didn’t really think to hard about their occupations or allegiances. There were men and women alike, though mostly men; in total there were probably 20 or so people in various stages of conversation and inebriation.

[Duncan Rightstone]

Tired, wet, sore from fighting the wind, confused and annoyed, Duncan took another gulp of ale from his mug, sat it down and lowered his head and his gaze for but a moment; his eyes closing as he fought back the new but growing ache in his head. His head shot up immediately as two chairs were pulled up next to him; two women each taking a seat. He quickly leaned back, his sapphire arm and his gauntleted one now on the table, his mug of ale jostled a bit yet still staying upright.

The woman to his right looked young for a human, maybe in her early 20’s. She had red hair woven into an elaborate braid and was wearing too much makeup. She was dressed in a simple green dress that bore a bit of elegance in its trim. The woman to his left was a good bit older, perhaps 40ish with loose dirty blonde hair and a bit more common looking without all the makeup of the other. She was dressed in a simple shirt and trousers. Both women were leaning against him quite closely.

The redhead reached through his cloak and traced with a finger the muscles of his chest through his wet shirt while the blonde reached down and gripped the top of his thigh. Both had a strange look on their face and an odd glimmer in their eyes that reminded Duncan of the way Eura looked back in the storage building but a few moments ago. The blonde woman leaned in and gently blew at his ear before saying, “So my friend and I, we agree that you would make wonderful husband material. We’re willing to share and would do anything for you. I…we, we can’t avoid it. We love you.” The redhead leaned in at the same time and nibbled at Duncan’s other ear for emphasis.

Duncan abruptly stood, careful as to not hurt the two women as he did. “Ladies...I…I can’t do this. Something’s not right here.” He said as he looked to leave.

As he got to his feet, the two women struggling between wanting to get out of his way and not wanting to be apart from him, Duncan saw a group of men break away from the rest of the crowd and quickly make their way toward him. There were four of them, all dressed in various stages of distaste. Standing a few feet from the table, the shortest of the four, a man balding man who appeared to address the fact by shaving the rest of his head, spoke up with almost humorous pitch to his voice. “Couldn’t help but notice your interest in these pretty ladies. We don’t look highly on people like you with our girls.”

[Duncan Rightstone]

Duncan raised an eyebrow. This guy is just as crazy as these women. He thought to himself while also noticing a familiar glimmer in the man’s eyes. Not just the one man but the other three as well. Of the three, there was a slightly taller, overweight man with short, greasy hair as well as another almost as tall with long brown hair and one with short blonde hair and a goatee.

Shaking his head at the complete insanity he was being faced with, Duncan looked to each of the men and said, “Listen, I just came here for a drink. I am not interested in these women and am just going to be getting on my way.”

The guy with the high-pitched voice said with anger seeping into his voice, “What’cha mean you aren’t interested in them? You think ur too good for them? You and your weird colored arm and weird looking face?” The man’s anger seemed to explode almost immediately.

“How dare you! Any man would count himself lucky to be with either of these two beauties! You filthy foreign trash! The quickly took a few steps forward and swung his arm at the mug of ale on the table; splashing it at Duncan.
Duncan looked down at his spilled ale. He slowly shook his head while rubbing the bridge of his nose with his sapphire thumb and forefinger. “Guys, you really down want to do this. Not today.”

The taller, obese man gave out a shout and kicked at the table, forcing it up slam up against Duncan’s waist. The two women took off running back to the crowd which was now beginning to offer encouragement to the men.
Duncan reached out and slowly pushed the table to the side and started to walk toward the door. The man with the goatee moved to stand in his way. He was a several inches taller than Duncan who looked up at the man and said, “Last chance.”

With that, the man with the brown hair reached for one of the chairs the girls were sitting in and swung it at Duncan, shattering it on his back. Duncan clenched his teeth against the modest bit of pain and turned to look over his shoulder. “Fine, we do it your way.”

The crowd erupted while the old man behind the bar shouted out to mind the establishment. The man with the goatee took the momentarily change in Duncan’s attention to charge at him in an attempt to tackle him. He got his arms around Duncan’s waist and tried to lift him only to find that the isur weighed significantly more than the man thought. On top of that, the cloak Duncan wore was a nettle cloak and as the man grabbed him, small, flat blades sewn into the hem of the cloak extended outward, cutting his arms and forcing him to let go and fall back with a cry of pain.

The obese man clenched his hands together and brought them down on Duncan’s shoulder; the one of his gauntleted arm. Overweight as the man was, he did have some strength to him and Duncan dropped his shoulder in pain and stumbled back. The guy with the high-pitched voice took the opening and threw a punch, connecting with Duncan’s jaw. The man let out a yelp of pain and pulled his hand back, shaking it. Duncan dropped to a knee and reached for a leg from the shattered chair.

[Duncan Rightstone]

As the brown-haired man charged in to kick him, Duncan brought the chair leg up and slammed it into the man’s other leg, sending him falling to the ground. Standing, Duncan faced the obese man and the high-pitched voice guy who was now holding his bruised hand. The big man threw a few more punches at Duncan, each connecting. Duncan was trying to stay patient and focused; not wanting to risk killing the men and causing more problems. He’d seen a few barfights in his time and usually, when one side was either knocked out or otherwise disabled, the fight was over and everyone went back to their drinks. Despite his attempts however, Duncan was quickly growing tired of all the insanity.
The big man continued to throw punch after punch while Duncan took them in stride, despite the growing pain from getting hit. He did note that the big man was starting to breathe quite heavily, his punches growing softer and softer. By this time, the man with the goatee had regained his footing. His arms bleeding and not wanting to have another go at it, backed away while still pretending at least to be ready.

The brown-haired man staggered to his feet and reached for a dagger at his side while the high-pitched voice guy pulled his own. The big guy, threw one more punch, missing, before falling back and sitting down; being grossly out-of-shape and too tired to keep going.

Left with the two remaining men, their daggers pulled, Duncan quickly looked around the immediate area. There, just within arm’s reach if he knelt down, was the metal mug that once held his ale. Feigning more pain and exhaustion than he was actually experiencing, he dropped to a knee and held up one arm, palm out to the men who were closing in. “Enough…it’s too much. You…you guys are the stronger men. Just one thing…”

The high-pitched voice guy paused, his dagger still at the ready, and said as gruffly as his ridiculous voice would allow, “What’s that?”

“Just not stronger than me.” Duncan grabbed the mug and flung it at the high-pitched voice guy; cracking him right in the forehead and sending him flailing to the ground, his dagger skittering across the floor. The brown-haired man, limping, stabbed at Duncan, who was still kneeling, the blade sinking in just below Duncan’s sapphire shoulder and hitting flesh. When Duncan didn’t react by recoiling or falling back, the man let go of the dagger’s hilt and himself stepped back. Duncan slowly got to his feet while trying to put on a good show of strength despite the explosion of pain near his shoulder. His face hurt, his back was bruised and now he had another stab wound for Ebon to handle. Combined with the rest of his day, to say that Duncan was completely done with it was an understatement.

Duncan reached up with his sapphire hand and gripped the dagger’s hilt. Slowly he pulled the blade free from his flesh with a noticeable grimace of pain on his face. He then looked from the dagger to the man, spun the dagger around to grip the blade and then squeezed; his fingers squishing the blade like clay. He then tossed it at the man’s feet and gave a questioning look. In response, the man raised his hands in defeat and stepped away. Duncan then moved toward the doors before turning, reaching into his pouch and pulling forth a single gold miza. He tossed the miza to the bartender and said, “For the chair.”

He then opened the door and left. As the windstorm slammed into him, Duncan almost felt relieved to be dealing with the elements rather than the craziness that seemed to infect others around him. Sour, bleeding and ready to go back to The Gem and collapse, he pushed his way through the terrible storm which had grown many times over since he’d entered the tavern. Many times he was forced to duck into an alley to escape the force of the wind and the flying debris. Yet, eventually, he arrived back at The Gem. Opening the door and bracing it against the wind, he went inside, praying to Izurdin that he could call the day over before it had truly began.